Page 11 of Heart of Snow
The children began to scatter. A few women let out surprised cries, one looking frantic as she called a girl’s name.
“Get the boys behind the church,” I ordered Ulrich. Slinking into the shadows of the buildings, I spotted a small girl whimpering and covering her ears as she rocked back and forth beside a rain barrel. I slipped toward her. Gathering her into my arms, I shushed her fearful cries before reuniting her with her desperate mother and sending them into the safety of an alleyway.
A tall, slender soldier stepped forward from the troop, addressing the townspeople in his heavy Spanish accent. “We’ve been ordered to quarter here. Our job is to ensure you surrender to the kaiser and return to the Catholic faith. If you comply with his generous terms, we shall have no trouble, shall we?” He clapped his hands—the sound puncturing the taut air—then rubbed them together, giving a toothy grin.
Angry murmurs churned through the town square.
“And what if we don’t?” someone yelled.
The soldier’s smile didn’t shift. “We are to use any means necessary to see that you do.”
Protests rang out, the people’s voices rising with their rage. One man wrapped a beefy fist around the handle of a pitchfork, his face dark with loathing.
No. No, no, no.If this escalated, these people would be slaughtered.
A wary soldier lifted his arquebus, aiming the muzzle directly at the man. To my left, an abandoned mallet lay across amerchant’s table. I’d have enough time to grab it and work my way behind the men on the right, maybe taking out two or three soldiers when the shooting started. It might give the women and children opportunity to hide.
Time slowed as I waited for the pop of the gun, waited for the smell of sulfur, for the blood.
And then I saw the boy, the little blond boy with excellent aim, run into the town square and cock back his arm. Without thinking, I pushed through a pair of women, launching myself toward the boy, but it was too late. His arm swung forward, and thethunkof a rock ricocheting off a soldier’s morion helmet echoed through the square. The boy scurried to disappear into the crowd, but he was too slow to outrun his victim. In a few long strides, the soldier crossed the distance between them, slapping the butt of his gun across the boy’s skull. A streak of red stained the boy’s white-blond hair.
“Leave him be!” I yelled. The little dog had reappeared beside me, his body shaking with each of his frenzied barks. I had half a mind to kick him but kept my sights trained on the enemy before me.
The soldier who had first spoken, likely their captain, raised an arm to hold back his men as his eyes studied me. I squirmed under his scrutiny but reminded myself that my bandaged gash was safely hidden beneath my shirt and jerkin. He had no way to know I’d fought against the kaiser.
“You’re quick to jump into the fray.” His arm lowered to his side. “Is the boysu familia?”
“He’s defenseless. I won’t see a grown man beat a child.”
The captain smiled and stepped close, his eyes on my face. “Ah. A defender of the weak. You like a good fight, then?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get this?” He lifted a finger and tapped above my brow, where a pike had grazed me. The wound wasnearly nothing now, likely no more than a pink line across my forehead, but his keen eyes were narrowed in suspicion.
A bead of sweat slipped between my shoulder blades. “It was a scythe.”
His eyes brightened like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. “A scythe? You were harvesting crops in May?” He moved closer.
“Friedrich!” The countess’s voice rang out over the square, echoing across the stones in the silence. Every Spanish eye lifted to the church steps where the countess stood, the wind whipping her skirts and golden hair. As the soldiers studied her with unmasked appreciation, I used their distraction to slip away from the captain. I picked the boy up by the elbow, and we melted into the crowd to watch the countess and her lady come down the stairs toward the soldiers.
She was brave. I could admit that much.
And her father was a coward, hiding in his castle and sending his daughter to deal with the Spaniards.
“Who might you be?” The captain stepped forward, his gaze wandering down the length of her body.
Her eyes dropped to his boots. “The countess of Waldeck-Wildungen, sir, and—”
“Captain,” he interrupted, flashing a crooked smile. “Captain Carrera.”
“Captain.” She took a shaky breath. “My people mean you no harm.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “The dent in my soldier’s morion would indicate otherwise.”
“Yes. About that. It would seem...” The countess’s cheeks flushed. “That is, it’s... it’s difficult to explain.”
“I’m willing to let you try.” His sultry tone made my skin wriggle like maggots. When his forward step caused the countess to retreat, I felt an urge to protect her, to push back through the crowd and shield her from his prying gaze.
